


new dawn. new day. new life.

by trickztr



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: (more like make out actually), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Deadlights (IT), Declarations Of Love, Dressing Room Sex, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-25 00:14:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21108314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trickztr/pseuds/trickztr
Summary: Something happened in the ten seconds Richie was stuck in the deadlights and nobody will tell him what it was. Coincidentally, there's a lot that's been left unspoken between him and Eddie.





	new dawn. new day. new life.

**Author's Note:**

> This is short and incredibly self-indulgent. Please be kind to me :)

Anyone who says showbiz is glamorous has either never worked there, or was somehow born into it, and to them, whatever stress that may come with a curtain call is just a rumor lesser actors spread around to seem more interesting.

Richie Tozier has never, not once, thought of his job as glamorous. The college bars where he started were often dark, tiny, crammed with loud people and every surface had this permanent coat of stickiness he’d rather not think about. The beer was watered down and the bathrooms were a fucking nightmare. The pay was laughable, but the turnout was nice at least.

Performing in bigger, classier theatres were no better. Fame paid for his expensive habit of _ living _, but while not having to wait in line or make reservations upfront to bars and restaurants he liked was convenient, it was still bullshit. It's phony, fast-paced and for some goddamn reason there's always someone yelling - not necessarily at him, but at someone next to him who did not make his decisions as they were supposed to. So, like... Yelling at him by proxy. 

Every pre-show hour feels like a particularly sophisticated type of torture.

Why does he stay active? Good question, and the answer could be summed up in two words:

  1. Money;
  2. Attention.

Tonight was specially nerve wracking to him. His friends would be in the audience. 

Sure. They were all pretty much familiar with "his" work, but this would be the first time they'd be there as... Well._ People who mattered._

"Richie, you're up in 20." His assistant raps on his door to remind him. Because there's apparently a risk he might get lost in the dressing room in the next twenty minutes. Which is such an insulting presumption. It’s not like he’d make that mistake twice. 

He stares at himself in the mirror, sighing. The bags under his eyes didn't magically disappear with the weight of his childhood trauma five months ago, as he subconsciously wished they would. As it turns out, some things are referred to as 'scars from trauma' for a reason.

So fucking be it. Nothing a little concealer wouldn't fix.

As he's dabbing a generous coat of the product on his face, there's another knock on the door.

"_ What _?" 

Bill pops his head inside. "Woah, diva alert."

Richie drops the cosmetics on his vanity desk and all but kicks his chair in his hurry to get up.

"Shit, guys, sorry! I thought-- You know what? Doesn't matter. So glad you could make it! Did you find your seats?" He asks, a mile a minute, as his friends take turns hugging him.

"Front row," Eddie's familiar voice stands out. "Right in the splash zone. Are ya gonna roast us during your act?"

"Only because you've mentioned it, yes."

"Richie, you're up in 15!" A P.A. shouts in the hallways. Richie clenches his jaw to keep from groaning in frustration.

"I guess that's your cue to go take your seats."

Ben pats his shoulder. "But we'll take you to drinks after."

"Break a leg, Richie!” Beverly says, kissing his cheek.

Richie chuckles. “This isn't theatre. You’re literally just wishing I’ll get an injury, so thanks for that.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “You can take it, tough guy.”. He places his hand on the small of Beverly's back on their way to the door and watching them, something clicks in Richie.

"Hey, Eds. Could you stick around for a bit? I gotta talk to you."

Eddie frowns, but nods, stepping away from the door. Richie doesn’t miss the way Beverly and Mike exchange _ a look _, but tries not to think too much about it.

When everyone's left, Eddie asks. "Is something wrong?"

Richie feels like he might throw up. His stomach is churning and his heart is pounding against his chest. Suddenly, bolting through the door sounds like an amazing idea.

He sits on vanity desk and fuck, that was a terrible idea. He’s pretty sure he just sat on wet wipes. Great. Now he’ll have to put on new pants. He puts the thought aside and adjusts himself so he’s sitting more comfortably. Eddie’s watching him, the lines in his forehead getting deeper and deeper.

Richie’s feet, tragically, do not dangle in an adorable, boyish way. That charming touch would've been a great help. Eddie could probably pull it off.

"Fuck," Eddie teases. "Trashmouth's gone silent. That's one for the books."

Richie folds his hands in his lap. Better get it over with. No need stalling.

"Sorry about those late night texts, man." _ Congrats, asshole _ , he thinks. _ That's some grade A Not Stalling right there _. "I was going through some shit and trying to figure out--"

"It's fine, bro. I get it." Eddie licks his lips. His chest is heaving. Richie tries to assess the situation - could his buddy be nervous about this too, or is it just some On Brand Kaspbrak Anxiety?

The missing ring on his left finger doesn't go unnoticed, though.

"I wanted to call you, flood you with questions about what happened that night, but I figured you had your own shit to sort through. What, with the hospital and then the thing with the wife--"

"You could've called. After I left the hospital, I mean. Myra and I were already split by then." Eddie sticks his hands deep his pockets. "I kept hoping you would, to be honest."

_ I kept hoping you would _. The words pierce through Richie's surprisingly thin skin and nearly knock him back.

_ Be cool. Maybe it's not what you're thinking _.

"Yeah. Well. Guess we could fill a couple stadiums with the shit we regret, huh? Anyway." He swallows the lump in his throat. "What I'd been meaning to ask was what happened right before... You know." He gestures vaguely at Eddie's chest. He was afraid he'd might have to elaborate on it, but Eddie's hand flies to the spot just under his heart where Pennywise stabbed him. "Yeah, that. My mind had this fucking blackhole of about ten seconds between the deadlights and It gutting you."

Eddie looks down. 

"I've thrown a shitload of money on therapy, trying to figure it out, but then it hit me the other day." He sighs. _ Now or never _ . _ Grow some balls, Tozier _. "I know what happened, because I saw it happen nearly thirty years ago. Waking someone up from the deadlights requires... Ben to kiss you right on the mouth." He nods and delights in the sound of Eddie's surprised giggle. "Be real with me, dude: did he use tongue?"

Eddie rolls his eyes. 

"Yeah, he stuck his tongue in your mouth. It was really gross, man. And I guess he tried to jack you off too?"

"Jesus, what a pervert." Richie shakes his head. Something warm springs in his chest and begins to slowly spread through his veins. Feeling emboldened, he slides off the desk. "One of you could've told me. I've been going just a little bit insane over this for a couple of months now."

Eddie bites his lips, looking down. He shrugs, and after a few tense seconds, says. "Things happened too fast and there was too much going on after. I guess everyone assumed it was too much all at once."

"Still fucked up, though, isn’t it? Your childhood crush finally kisses you and you can't remember that?" His heart is beating so fast, Richie feels like he might throw up. Classic Tozier. 

Eddie watches him approach with wide, assessing eyes. Richie can almost see the cogs turning in his brain. He's analysing this. Calculating the odds and weighing in the pros and cons.

In a way, it's comforting to know he's not the only one shitless scared of whatever the next ten minutes might bring on.

"Do you know how long I've wanted Ben to kiss me?!

"You shallow bitch," Eddie bites back, and it's a dance they're used to by now. One, two, three, four, 'bitch', 'asshole', 'fuck you,' 'dickwad.' It's what they've always done. "What a fucking cliche, you’re into the tall, dark, handsome, straight one. Gross."

Richie tilts his head. "Bold of you to assume any of us is straight. Have you seen Bill's pants? It's like they were painted on."

The metaphorical water felt warm and shallow enough to dip his toes into, Eddie seems to deduce. Richie feels his mouth going dry as he watches his friend take firm steps towards him.

"Guilty as charged," Richie shrugs. "But you know," he says, his voice dropping a few notes. The short distance between them has been surpassed and if Richie wanted to, he could just reach out and touch. "I've always been more into tiny and angry."

Something flares up in Eddie's eyes and Richie feels the pull of excitement in his lower abs. It feels amazing and also terrifying.

"I guess I never thanked you for that kiss."

"Well, what's keeping you now?" And it's such a dick move, Richie could punch him right now. Of course Eddie would toss the ball back at him. Issue the challenge right back, instead of picking up the slack.

Richie has been nothing but a quitter his whole life. Every bone in his body is telling him to bail. This is too much, all at once. Irrationally, he even considers that maybe this is It fucking with his head again.

His hands fit in the spot above Eddie's hips as if they were made to be there. As if they had always meant to be there. 

"Fuck you, bro," he smiles, as he dips his head and places a chaste kiss to Eddie's lips. It's meant to be a gesture. A token. Hell, a fucking promise, if Eddie will have him.

He pulls back, but Eddie's hand at the back his head stops him mid-motion - and fuck, it's nowhere near sweet, soft or whatever Richie stupidly assumed. It's rough and demanding. It's Eddie letting him know the kiss will end when he decides it's over.

Things move faster after that. They've both been wanting this for a long time and for the first time in their lives, there's nothing standing in the way. There's only the want, and the _ now _. 

Eddie pushes him back until he's once again sitting at his vanity desk. Eddie stands between his legs and _ yeah _ , _ okay _ , _ good _, Richie thinks. They're practically at the same level, and this allows him to neck Richie at will.

Eddie makes impatient noises and keeps pulling at Richie's jacket until he takes the hint. He takes it off and takes the opportunity to stick his hands under Eddie's shirt. Warm, taut skin greets him and a part of his brain is screeching at the moment. _ More _ , his brain urges him. ** _More_ **.

Richie doesn't think, he just lifts off Eddie's shirt, mouth watering at the prospect of running his tongue down those designs, and at hard nipp--

Tattoos. Edward Motherfucking Kaspback. Has tattoos.

He pulls back to fully appreciate them, and fuck, he wants to ask a million questions. When, why, did it hurt, is that something you're into, what the fuck--

What he does do is dive into them, lapping at the star above his right pec - and Eddie got fucking pecs; Eddie is ripped! -, sucking on the skin around the nipple.

Eddie gasps and presses closer, and fuck. The press of Eddie's erection against his thigh is clearly historical reparations on behalf of Derry.

His sneaks a hand between them and gets the first button undone when--

"Two minutes to curtain call, Richie!"

_ Wow. Fuck you, Universe. _

He presses their foreheads together and takes a deep breath. 

Eddie’s giggling like a little kid.

“Dude, is there a bathroom I can use? I can’t face the other guys _ like this _.”

Richie nods and because he can and because he never wants to stop, he kisses Eddie again. “Down the hall, to your left.” A peck, with closed lips. “But after… If you want, we can just pick up where we lef--”

“No, yeah, absolutely.” Eddie hasn’t stopped touching him. “Drinks and then…”

“My apartment is literally twenty minutes away.” He rubs a thumb over the scar on Eddie’s cheek. It took them a lot to get here. They can handle a few hours delay. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Richie, you gotta go!”

“Coming! _ Jesus _.”

\--

They walk out of his dressing room, fingers entwined, and stay that way until their paths diverge. Eddie takes a turn to the left and Richie is rushed to the right, towards the stage. A P.A. thrusts a water bottle in his hand and whirls him around. A voice announces his name and the crowd cheers. It’s go time.

He marches down the stage, waving at the crowd as they cheer him on and scream his name. Picks up the microphone and scans the audience. Despite everything his career has been through the past few months, it’s a packed house.

His first joke is something about needing pills to be able to keep up with this fictional younger girlfriend and then go off on a tangent about millennial culture. It’s pretty standard and reasonably funny.

His friends are watching him intently from the first row. Eddie has just made his way back to the audience and he’s taking his seat.

“So something awkward happened the other day,” he begins. The clapping and cheering start to die down. “My nephew texted me a screenshot of some old dude shirtless on Grindr, asking ‘hey, uncle Richie, this isn’t how I’d planned to come out, but is this you?’” The crowd boasts laughing. “_ I know, right _?” He shakes his head. “I replied, ‘thank you for telling me, Dylan, but no, that’s not me.’” He pauses until the tension has stretched on long enough for it to be awkward. “‘I’m wearing a shirt in my profile pic.’”

A hush falls in the room. Richie feels like throwing up again. 

Thunderous clapping booms suddenly. Relief washes him. Sure, his agent will murder him and he just fucked up his entire act, but this is good. The scariest part is over.

Obviously that’s bullshit, and he knows it. The scary part is over, but the Incredibly Hard and Invasive Part will come soon. It’s fine. 

He’s faced worse.


End file.
